the engineer’s daughter November 24, 2009

Oh there was an engineer, he had two innocent daughters
And the elder of them, she found a man much like her father
He loved her so gently and held her so tenderly
‘Twasn’t difficult to see why she wanted the wedding

Oh in the beginning they were in like with each other
They weren’t sure but they thought that the great Betrother
Had brought them together for a time, a brief time
To show them happiness and foster their growth

The engineer’s daughter, she prayed to be sent a sign
To show her how far they would go down the line
And three years, a not-so-brief time later,
The young engineer-to-be returned with a purpose
To tell her his intentions, to render her dreams alive

Though she thought she knew him, she’d never before
Seen him in such a way, saw him give her more
Than she’d ever expected or asked of him, ever–
This, she decided, was the transforming power
Of love.

But like every couple of star-crossed lover-fools
He and she often transgressed and bent rules
Until they could no longer ignore the flaws
Contaminating their troubled souls

It wasn’t until after the seventeenth of May
Three years, nearly, since the happy day
They plighted their troth in secret
When to light brought they
Their truest selves

Heartbreak, heart-mend, but mostly new-found
Desire and delight in the thought of the sound
Of minister’s words and licensure signed
To tell all, from this we shall not abscond

And six months since then, how much more they do see
Apart from the Engineer who caused them to be
He and she cannot help but return to the lies
Which they used to dwell in, but bound and not free

So now do they witness Love’s transforming power
As daily by moment they cease to cower
Behind their façades, now they join with each other
To become more and more who they really are

New eyes have they, and can see through the veil
Of sin’s curse to the promise that Love never fails
Seven years young with him, the young woman finds
Her future husband is more like the Engineer
Than ever she noticed in previous days

Oh, there was an Engineer, he had a son and a daughter,
And these two found each other and as one became like their Father…

a leaf falls on loneliness November 14, 2009

I first encountered this poem by e.e. cummings in one of my high school English classes taught by Mrs. Summers (and a lovely young soul she was to match that name!). It seemed just right for tonight’s long-overdue post.

l(a

le
af
fa
ll

s)
one
l

iness

Anna, correct me if my memory is mistaken, but wasn’t he the poet who claimed his poems were tapped out on a typewriter by a cricket? I seem to remember this being his explanation for the lack of capitalization and punctuation. But what brought this on was you and I were just talking of typewriters this afternoon, and the leaves crunched underfoot and the breeze deftly plucked others from the trees above; and it was not at all lonely.

You see, this time last night I was most certainly lonely. My roommate and one suitemate were gone, leaving the other suitie and me to watch The Wizard of Oz on TBS as she half-studied and I kept up a running commentary of movie trivia. After that, we turned off the lamp in the living room and retired to our separate bedrooms: she to pack for her trip home today, I to await Beloved’s call via Skype video chat. Our conversation was beautiful. It was so refreshing to see his face.

Ever since counseling with the Pastor this summer, Beloved and I have made it a point to pray together before we say good-night (which mostly results in him praying and me listening). Every night possesses similar elements: guide us as we read the Word in the morning, thanks for giving us the ability to communicate daily, help us rest well tonight so tomorrow will go well for us, etc. The rest usually pertains to whatever fragments of the conversation come to mind. Last night, Beloved prayed three things for me. He prayed that the Bible study seminar would be productive for me. He prayed that I would not be lonely today. He even prayed for the gingerbread people I planned to bake. It was simple and sweet–and it was all answered today. The seminar was highly beneficial. I have only been completely alone for half an hour today. And, aside from the first batch turning out more like ginger-snaps, the little people are deliciously adorable!

She looks like she's dancing; she must be happy like me!

So… why is it again that I don’t always pray and ask for what I need?

on long-winded-ness October 18, 2009

WordPress has this handy feature for its members called “Tag Surfer”. You give it a tag you’re interested in (i.e., two of mine are “marriage” and “pharmacy”) and it gives you the most recent posts with those tags. In this way, you can find blogs that may interest you and add them to your Blog Surfer (or blogroll). Sometimes the entries posted are very short, to the point that you wonder why the blogger bothered; but at least once on every updated Tag Surfer page I come across an entry which surpasses all limits of being called a “blog post” and should be published as a short novel!

The most recent monstrosity I found was 14,874 words long! How does one have that kind of typing stamina?! I have enough trouble posting a couple hundred words a month sometimes… but thousands? Wow.

~~~~

So, what has been going on with me? Since my last post I have attended a Depression-era party complete with folk singing; participated in a walk to raise money for diabetes research and education; attended my sister’s play; baked pita bread from scratch (twice!); visited Beloved (AND studied for an exam while I was there, thank you very much); took two rather intimidating tests in one week; and donated ten dollars to breast cancer research so I could get a pink hair extension.

~~~~

Wedding? We’ve officially booked the photographer now, which makes all our contract work (basically) complete! And three weeks ago when I went home we ordered my wedding invitations, which arrived last week! Mom put one in the mail for me to see (how strange receiving an invitation to my own wedding!) and that should arrive tomorrow. I’ve really got to get working on music and looking for various gifts for attendants, helpers, etc. The countdown clock Mom snuck onto my desk says there are 243 days, 7 hours, 49 minutes, and 57 seconds until the big day! The end of November marks the halfway point of my engagement to Beloved. After that, there will be more behind us than ahead of us!

~~~~

There. A concise wrap-up of the last three weeks, all in under four hundred words. Take that!

the silent b September 28, 2009

Those words. Those dreadful, dreaded, unavoidable words. They make all the difference in the conversation.

“I can’t talk long tonight.”

When Beloved has work to do, he has work to do. He still has a year to uphold his end of the scholarship agreement. And that means some nights we don’t get to talk. Oh sure, there’s the lighthearted banter about the day’s events and the occasional playful jab (ie, when determining why I’ve lost sleep lately, he postulated “must be that talkative fiancé of yours” and I retorted, “more like his talkative fiancée!”) As much as I’ve come to expect it, every time it happens still feels like a pit in the gut. Into that pit I toss everything I hoped to bring up tonight. The next few pages of Covenant Marriage. My thoughts on my excruciatingly boring evening spent avoiding biochemistry. Theoretical future plans, just for kicks. A date for a photo shoot.

But, I can’t stay down like this forever. Not after the wonderful conversation we had last night; all simple, honest giving and discovering hidden joys. I can let the B remain silent tonight while he works and I dream. Soon enough he’ll be mine. Soon enough we won’t be separated by a hundred forty miles and a disconnected phone line.

That is, if eight months and twenty-one days can be called “soon enough.”

[gotcha!] i have been temperate always, but August 14, 2009

Congratulations, faithful reader (or two or three; however many of you there are): you’ve probably noticed that this post doesn’t quite follow my usual scheme. Know why? Because someone else wrote it! “But, it does sound somewhat like you, though!” I know, I know. That’s what happens when my right brain (aka Anna) takes over for an evening! We’ve been meaning to write a joint post all summer; but what it took was an hour or so in the same room channeling, well, each other. We agreed to choose the poetry of Fleet Foxes as our inspiration and set to scribbling. Although our creative liberties led us down two totally different paths, we still managed to end them in the same way, with the same air of brief finality. And, probably the oddest thing, we settled on a common title that actually fit both! So, dear reader(s), do enjoy my little bit of bloggery on her site, and please do venture into her other delectable entries!

~~~~~~~~~~

Wanderers this morning came by
Where did they go
Graceful in the morning light
To banner fair
To follow you softly
In the cold mountain air

Yesterday, I ate a cherry tomato warm off the vine. Today I wept for a six month fresh loss. And I am glad to be alive.

I guess that’s what I’ve been grappling with lately. The mix of good and bad – in the world, in others, but mostly in me. How is it that I can break my heart over a pair of melancholy dog eyes one moment, and the next I’m fuming because my mother asked me to run an errand? How can I shut myself off from friends one week and pour myself into hugs and encouragement the next? How can I worship God for the grace of a new morning, and resent his commands five minutes later? Which girl am I?

Well. Both – and neither.

This “answer” is more complex than my black-and-white mind would like. I’m the girl sulking because things don’t go her way, and the girl spending time in volunteer programs. I would rather think of myself as good with some flaws, or even the tag of “bad” would at least make things simpler.

But I’m also trying to understand the reality that I’m neither. That my most selfish, horrible thoughts don’t define me. Neither do my most loving and pure expressions. That’s weird, because it leaves the question of identity hanging. Like every Sunday School kid, I know the answer to identity: Jesus. But what does this mean, that Jesus lives in me? That I lose my personality in piety, become a holy robot? I know that’s not true, but it’s what I believe most of the time. So how do I accept the Both -I’m a broken image of God- and the neither- Jesus determines who I am.

That’s the tension of in between, isn’t it. I can’t say I know how all this works out in my life, but I want the freedom to find out. To see myself not as all bad or all good, but loved regardless of what I say or think or feel. I’m longing for the heady thrill of grace, to venture outside the safe and lifeless fences I’ve built.

I’m ready for the adventure of freedom.

going up? June 2, 2009

WARNING: SPOILER!

I must say, this newest gem from Pixar is their most mature piece of art yet.  UP captured the very soul of endearment and captivated me from its bittersweet beginning to sweeter end.  The exposition: Carl and Ellie Frederickson’s sixty-odd-year marriage unfolded in five wordless minutes, showing rather than telling us how they gracefully aged together.  They really had a full life, those two, and loved each other dearly. After seeing this, it was easy to understand why Carl became such a curmudgeon after the death of his wife.

On he lived in his own stubborn, unyielding ways, clinging fiercely to his house as it was when Ellie still lived there. It was sad, certainly: I wanted to wonder why he never moved on, but knew in my heart of hearts that she was his whole life and to leave the house was to give that up. So instead of allowing his circumstances to nudge him along into assisted living, he escaped, flying the house like the colossal dirigible he had seen in the newsreels as a boy.

I don’t feel like giving away the ENTIRE plot, but what I would like to expound upon is the central binding thread of the story: Ellie’s “adventure book”.  When it is first introduced, it’s obviously a child’s scrapbook–complete with an empty section labeled “things I’m going to do”–and once the children grow up, you think that’s the end of it. But after Carl and Ellie discover they cannot have children (the first of many misty-eyed moments that evening), out it comes again as a reminder that adventure is still awaiting them.  Away it goes once more, having served its purpose as a good-humored kick in the pants.  Until Ellie dies.  Just before passing, she hands the book to Carl, who sees himself a dismal failure for never fulfilling her dream to visit Paradise Falls. Years pass before he opens it again–this time, it is just as he is setting out on his journey in the floating house. But it is too painful for him to look past that one page.  He just knows he will find further affirmation of his shortcomings. It isn’t until the end of the movie that he mans up enough to view the rest of the book. But instead of whatever he expects to see, these last pages are full of photos of he and Ellie on their greatest adventure to date: their marriage.

What a beautiful scene! As far as I can tell, never having been married myself, life with that special someone is definitely a memorable journey. It’s chock-full of dangers, worries, excitement, joy, sorrow–heck, the whole gamut of emotions and experiences! And through it all, Carl remained wholly devoted to Ellie (it smacks strongly of “husbands, love your wives,” does it not?). This afternoon in my and Beloved’s first pre-marital counseling session, the Pastor walked us through the differences between a covenant and a contract. The latter is simply a legal statement of what is expected from each party; and as easily as they are made, they can be broken if even one point is breached. There is nothing more than that. Covenants, however, are not made to be so neatly broken–they may provide ramifications for transgressions, but the covenant itself remains. I think the quote in the Pastor’s notes sums it up nicely:

A Contract is an agreement made in suspicion between parties who do not trust each other and therefore place limits on their responsibilities. A Covenant is an agreement made in trust between parties who love each other and therefore place no limits on their responsibility.

The covenants made between a husband and wife should reflect those made between God and man; and what a breathtaking picture of love that is! Although this movie (no, I haven’t forgotten about my original train of thought) doesn’t delve that deeply into the nature of Carl and Ellie’s relationship, I do believe they shared these kind of covenants made in love for one another. Their lives were all the fuller for it–so the involuntary desire to similarly grow old with my Beloved did not take me by surprise. Indeed, I cannot wait for our life together to begin: “Adventure is Out There!”

forever begins now May 17, 2009

Something happened to me this evening that turned my whole body into Jello.

Very. Excited. Jello.

The best place to start these type things is the beginning, but that was so long ago and the journey so arduous that I must needs save it for another day. So instead, please allow me to begin at the commencement of this chapter.

Last week as I was preparing to come home from school for the summer, Beloved and I decided that we wanted to spend an evening together sometime this weekend. He told me to choose a place to eat and that he’d pick me up at five o’clock (I chose Ruby Tuesday, for the record). We enjoyed a simple, savory meal there, after which he asked if I’d like to go for a walk somewhere; he claimed his legs were stiff from driving and sitting all day and could use a good stroll. Once we had finished bandying about our options, we settled on the nearby wildlife refuge and set off.

Finding a good place to walk around proved difficult. The day being a Sunday, the visitors’ center was closed as was the refuge office. So, we took a turn on the next promising road and began exploring. The first place we found was at a boat ramp with a lovely view of the sun and the water… and a large dead fish. The last bit kept us at bay in the car, so Beloved suggested a relocation. Off we went, taking one road and then another until we were on a single-lane gravel path which followed the river bank awhile before passing beneath the interstate and veering into a mown-down cornfield. The views to be had on the water always make for good photography, so I alighted onto a slightly muddy path and captured several moments through my camera lens.

It being a chilly evening, especially for the time of year, Beloved asked if I’d like to take a walk to warm up. If we went up the path a little ways, he pointed out, I might be able to get some good sunset photos. So up we went, pausing every now and then so I could lean precariously over the water and snap a few shots. Eventually we decided we’d gone far enough and stopped to take it all in. Leaning against him with his arms around me, I was quite shielded against the wind and cold; but being the considerate man he is, he asked if I was warm enough.

“Yes, I’m warm. I’m with you, aren’t I? That’s always enough.”

“Good.” (pause) “Know something?”

“What’s that?”

“You can be [with me] like this much more… starting now… if you say yes.”

And in less time than it took for me to react, he was on one knee opening a little red jewelry box and slipping the ring on my finger. Enter Jello-legs.

Right now I am happier than I have ever been before! I don’t know if or when I will sleep tonight; but if I do doze off, I can finally put a face to the groom of my dreams…

no happy medium May 11, 2009

What is it about staying up ’til three and awakening at the crack of seven that is so frustrating during finals week?  The fact that I can’t keep up with (or get too far ahead of, I don’t know which) my own body.  Last night–or rather, this morning–I was at the top of my mental game.  I was typing at the speed of thought and comprehending the words on the pages.  The juxtaglomerular apparatus and the loop of Henle alike were under my mastery.  Except, well, when it came to getting rid of all the sugar I ingested yesterevening.  As I lay miserably awake in bed at half past three, the refrain that kept drumming through my inner ear was “one hundred percent of the glucose in the blood is reabsorbed into the blood after secretion into the nephron.” One hundred percent.  Which meant that no matter how much I knew about the kidneys (sorry, Anna), they wouldn’t make it any easier to get to sleep.  I was doomed to be restless.

And so it was that when my roommate’s alarm sounded at six, I also awoke.  I cocooned myself in my blanket, turning away from the sound and the light, but it was too late.  My heart was already racing, my sugar-infested blood feeding all my hungry little mitochondria until they, too, were bouncing off the walls like toddlers after a chocolate milkshake.  “It’ll be time to get up soon! Wake up!” And, of course, they wouldn’t leave me alone, not even after I actually did get up.  Even now, three hours later, I can’t shake them.

But neither can I be productive with my consciousness.  In just over a half hour I begin the first of two final exams for today, and I cannot concentrate at all on either of them.  There’s no time to sleep before then, nor is there the willpower to focus my mental efforts until then.  I suppose I’ll just have to cras$&*@#%$%

if not answers, grant me patience April 24, 2009

Under normal circumstances, I would say that patience is a virtue that I have a firm grasp on.  At least, the semblance of it.  I can sit and wait for food in a restaurant (usually) without wondering how much longer it will take.  I can retreat into my own mind and there be entertained while standing in the ponderously slow checkout lines at the nearest Walmart.  Even when I am in a hurry, I manage to becalm myself with the reassurance that I will arrive on time, at the latest.  But the non-happenings of the past two weeks have left me so very frustrated, all I want to do is to get through the day and go to sleep so the next day will arrive sooner.  It appears that what I called patience was nothing more than a facet of my easy-going side.

I am speaking, as many college students would, about summer.  But sunning on the beach, hiking the Appalachian Trail, and spending day after lazy day upon my own quirky pursuits, however appealing, are far from the way I would like to spend it: in a research laboratory.  I have put in 6-8 hours a week during the semester in between classes and have really felt a kind of ownership over my work.  Ideally, I will be able to live here in town, quasi-independently, and go to the lab every day as a full-time job.  Payment would come from the grant/scholarship that my faculty mentor and I applied for, the minimum amount of which is more than I’ve ever made in two months’ time.  Meanwhile, my resume would be bolstered with this irreplacable experience and I would be able to better assess my fitness for research as a part of my future career.  Ideally.

As of yet, I have no backup plans.

It may seem foolish to rest my hopes upon the decision of a committee that probably got suckered into selecting awardees by the offer of a free lunch and a day away from normal work, but in practice that is precisely what I am doing.  I do not want to even think about the possibility of a long, taxing job search back home until this vision has been utterly destroyed.  So it is that I have anxiously peered through the tiny window in my mailbox, praying for some official-looking business letter to appear, and all for naught.  I gathered from the application that I would receive notification of my success (or failure) on or by the seventeenth… last Friday.  Friday came and went with nothing more than a fresh layer of dust.  So the good professor called the grant officer to ascertain the cause of the delay, at which he was assured that letters would be mailed the following week.  I did not expect to hear anything until Wednesday at the earliest because of the slowness of parcel post, but as soon as the PO opened that day, there I was, cupping my hands to block the glare on the box window, praying that my letter was masked by that stray beam.  It wasn’t.  Neither was it there yesterday.  Nor today.  Another phone call revealed that the committee has faced several delays in the selection process and will not be meeting until Tuesday next.

Which means that I will not know anything for another week.

Please, if I don’t show up for church/class/meals/etc, come find me.  My head’s probably stuck in the wall where I hit it a bit too vehemently.

march madness March 26, 2009

I must have been out of my head! Honestly, how could I have even imagined that I would be able to sing at a funeral and immediately jump headlong into mission work with ten of my upbeat, enthusiastic peers?

What really happened was this: Saturday morning I spent taking my time getting everything together for the trip since I wouldn’t be leaving until after the funeral at 4.  Practiced the song I was to sing, it sounded pretty good, I copied out the lyrics just in case I went blank.  Got to the funeral home, it’s still okay, Uncle R. looked like he was seventy-five again instead of six weeks shy of eighty-eight.  My mother and grandmother came down for the service; and so it was that three generations of women represented our family.  It was interesting to see many of the faces I saw a year ago; most of them remembered me as “the sweet girl who sang at A.’s funeral” and thanked me again for that service.  Off to the graveside we went on that drizzly afternoon.  There was no elaborate ceremony, just a few Scriptures read and a few words spoken before my part came and it was all over.

It was the first time I had ever wept while singing to anyone.  I’m really not certain how or why, but when the last chorus came I could not hold myself together any longer. For once, my mother had to come help me finish instead of vice versa.  So. Draining.

The next five (or was it six?) hours of driving brought me safely to the campground where my mission team would be staying for the week.  Yes, I was glad to finally arrive and to see everybody, but nothing suited me more than sleep.  So sleep I did.

On Sunday, I awoke in the freezing cold of our cabin–I shouldn’t say I woke up because it implies that I actually slept–still exhausted but knowing that I had to get started on the day.  For that morning we were to lead a worship service at the nursing home, and I still hadn’t picked out anything to sing (yes, even after the previous day’s trauma, I was to lead music).  It’s awful for me when I don’t know what I’m doing until right before I have to do it.  But thankfully on Friday night I spent a good three hours looking up guitar chords for some favorite hymns, so all that was left was to practice them.  I thank God that I wasn’t alone in front of all those people that morning, because I did not feel that I could do anything, much less do it well, on my tiny share of willpower.  Nevertheless, it was all over quicker than I thought and without too many bumps.  But that night as the team gathered in the dining hall for a game of Apples to Apples, I found myself silently withdrawing from them, hoping that at least one person would follow me and feeling selfishly resentful when they didn’t.  They don’t understand, I muttered inwardly, and even if they do, they just don’t know how to deal with my pain.

I called Beloved and spewed to him an overflowing earful of “I can’t do this” and “I don’t want to be here” and “I don’t know what I’m even doing here”.  In his calm assuring way he sat in silence and allowed me to sob nigh unto exhaustion; then he picked up a shard of my broken image, brushed off the dust, and showed me how far I had carried myself away from the truth. “Don’t be sad about being sad,” he told me, “they don’t expect you to be at the top of your game right now.”  But that still doesn’t help me out… I’m still not sure I’m supposed to be here! “Remember, Romans 8:28 says all things work for the good…” Will you please quit quoting that verse at me? I know what it says! “Well, I don’t really know what to tell you. But God does have a reason for you to be there. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up loving the kids you work with.” Ughhhh… I don’t even want to think about children right now. Too much energy required to keep up with them. Okay, dear. Whatever you say. Sure. How am I going to get through this week??

I don’t really have the words to describe the transformation that occurred between Sunday night and Monday morning.  All I know is that when we began sharing Jesus with those beautiful three-, four-, and five-year-olds, I became enthralled with the message I was teaching.  Guess what–I was once again in charge of leading music.  The task which one day before seemed insurmountable was all at once incredible and doable. As I write, I am now reminded of a question a friend of mine once asked his music minister: “What do you do when you don’t want to worship God?”  The reason for this question is that worship leaders must do just that, whether they feel like it or not.  But the response to that inquiry is simple obedience.  When God’s praises don’t just spontaneously fling themselves off of your lips, when your heart is filled with diseases of sorrow and bitterness, but you still must fulfill your duties as a leader, you must do so out of obedience.

And, as I found out, God rewards that obedience.

Never before have I experienced such joy in ministering to the little ones.  Partly due to the help of my teammates, but mostly working off of some supernatural inspiration, I dropped my dreary outlook and focused all of my efforts on showing God to these children.  My prayers became less of “Help me,” and more of “Help them.”  By Thursday, I was actually sad to leave the daycare.  I tried my best to redeem what little time I had there that day; I so desperately wanted little E. and M. to remember the lessons from the week.  Yes, I was glad to have earned the trust and respect of the little dears, but I knew that they probably would forget about me within the month.  Perhaps when they learn to read, they will go back and see the crayon letters spelling out “Jesus Loves You” on their coloring pages.  Perhaps they will remember singing “Deep and Wide” and “This Little Light of Mine”  and “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” and want to know more.  Perhaps.

It was preposterous to think that I could plant these seeds on my own.  It is so easy to look back now and see how God was at work through me–but I know that all too soon I will revert back to my old ways of doubt, much like the Israelites did in spite of all the awesome ways they were provided for.  Lord, help my unbelief!

(For the record, Beloved, you were right. Again.)